


Better Off Dead

by suicidein_angeleyes



Series: we don't have to dance [2]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempted Suicide, Depression, Drug Use, Mentions of Rape, Mentions of past child abuse, No Beta We Die Like Ninja, Recreational Drug Use, Underage Sex, nervous break
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:20:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25591921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suicidein_angeleyes/pseuds/suicidein_angeleyes
Summary: Companion story to Chapter 6 of We Don't Have to Dance, and while it can be read alone, it would probably make more sense with that. A bad drug trip after a few days or no sleep leaves Gaara spiraling into memories that leave him on the edge.
Relationships: Gaara & Inuzuka Kiba
Series: we don't have to dance [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1839832
Kudos: 5





	Better Off Dead

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [we don't have to dance](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25402459) by [suicidein_angeleyes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/suicidein_angeleyes/pseuds/suicidein_angeleyes). 



> Title from Better off Dead by Sleeping With Sirens
> 
> Alrighty so, buckle up buttercups. If you've read Chapter 6 of We Don't Have to Dance, you've got a little background on where this came from. 
> 
> If you haven't; this ain't pretty. It's explicit for mentions of: non-con, underage rape, abuse, death, drug use. Explicit thoughts of suicide and a suicide attempt and a hospital stay. Read at your own risk, heed the tags. I'm here to chew bubble gum and break hearts, and I'm all out of bubble gum.

Fingers knot uncomfortably in shaggy red hair, curling around streaks of black, pulling hard. It doesn’t help. He can't fucking _think_ and his stomach burns from the last shot of vodka. Or whiskey? Maybe tequila. It doesn’t really matter now. No matter what it was, now it feels like it’s burning a hole in his gut, and the nauseating confusion clouding his mind.

When's the last time he ate something? 

Fuck, when's the last time Gaara _slept_. He can't fucking remember. 

He remembers the stranger who had gripped his hair, shoving his tongue in his mouth and the pill that had dissolved on his tongue. Kami, what the fuck was he on? 

Fingers curl in his hair again, pulling harder as he fights his own thoughts, bowing forward against his knees as his body seizes in cramps. His head’s spinning wildly, and suddenly he can’t remember where he is. The room spins, and an insidious voice whispers from the back of his mind.

“ _Nephew, what are you doing in the closet like that? Have you wet yourself **again** , you pathetic excuse for a child!”_

Gaara whines softly, shaking his head. “Uncle, please,” he whines softly, pulling his knees closer to himself, trying to make his body as small as possible. His hands cover his head a bit, body shaking as he shakes helplessly. “I didn’t mean to. Please.” 

He’s eight, scared and sad and frail, bruises littering his body as he clutches desperately at his own shins. The closet is small and cramped, barely big enough to count, but Gaara’s always been on the small side and it makes it harder for anyone to get to him. 

“ _You better get your ass out there, you filthy, ungrateful brat. Kankuro would certainly be more thankful to me with all the kindness you’ve been offered here,_ ” a hand slams on the door, the wall vibrating against his back. Gaara whines, ducking his head further against his knees helplessly, shaking at that. “ _Or Temari. Your big sister’s always appreciated what’s been given to her._ ”

No, no, no. Gaara’s half-siblings meant the world to him, even if he hadn’t been able to see much of them since his mother died. Since his father abandoned him to his uncle, his mother’s brother. He couldn't let his uncle touch them, ever. He wouldn't. It's such an intense betrayal already, hurts so much for someone he'd loved, who he'd trusted to hurt him so badly, he wouldn't let the man touch Konkuro or Temari. They’d been close before his mother died, a blended family that met in the middle without issue until she started getting sick. 

It had progressed quickly, one day she was a vibrant woman with life and kindness in her eyes. Two months later she was smiling gently at Gaara, gaunt in a hospital bed, wisps of hair all that’s left on the pillow her head lays on while tubes and machines barely keep her alive. She’d died with her hand in his, her skin paper-thin and nearly translucent against his tiny fingers. It’s the first time his uncle’s fingers on his shoulders feel like ice, with the way he says his name. Like Gaara let him down, failed at something and how _disappointed_ his father would be. Not distraught for the loss of his second wife, or what his son was suffering, but disappointed that Gaara hadn’t done something right. 

He’s not sure what he could have done, not when he’d just sat there, hoping one day she wouldn’t look so sick and tired, trying not to get in the way when she was too tired when the doctors and nurses were in the room. He didn’t understand, and he hadn’t understood when his father hadn’t even come to take him home. 

At her funeral, his father hadn’t even looked at him, his head held high as he watched her lowered into the ground. Temari and Kankuro had cried, had grown up with Gaara’s mother as their own, but their father hadn’t shed a tear. He hadn’t looked at Gaara as when he’d stepped up beside him, stating that he had two children to take care of, and he would be staying with his uncle. It’s what his mother would have wanted, anyways. 

Gaara hadn’t understood any of it, it hurt but he’d gone with his uncle willingly enough. 

When his uncle had come into his room that night, covered his mouth, whispering than he just wanted a kiss good night, stripping the child of any of his barriers, and holding him down. Promising the gods won’t mind when it’s just them, and it’s good, how his precious nephew hasn’t seen anything yet, he’ll treat his beauty right.

Then he’d left him curled in his bed alone and in pain and begging for any sort of redemption. 

For some reason, running away at twelve seemed like a dream. It had been bad at times on the streets before Temari had managed to track him down, but it had been better than living with his uncle. The four years in his home had been worse than anything, terrified in the dark when he heard the footsteps in the hall, trying to hide whenever possible. 

And, he’s trapped there. He can hear his uncle whispering in his ear. No one will ever love him like his blood, no one will want such a _disgusting_ , ungrateful, undeserving child, and Gaara cannot escape the horror of his own mind. Maybe if it was just some horrible nightmare, but the sensory memory of actual events makes it damn near impossible to know where to begin looking for reality as they all begin to blend together.

He can feel someone touching him, a voice he _knows_ , he should know. He thinks he might know, but the hands that touch his arms set him off, feeling icy cold and he panics 

Whoever grabbed him backs away as Gaara struggles against them, and he shoves away from them to stand, trying desperately to escape. He's released willingly but it's not enough. There’s a glass window, and weak, shaking fingers grip a chair. His arms are too weak, and he loses his grip on it before it hits the window. No damage is done, but it leaves Gaara shaking and desperately as he scratches at his arms, feeling unbearably trapped and he can’t breathe. 

Quite suddenly he needs air. He needs to see the sky. It’s the only comfort he’s known for so long, and this has to be some nightmare. Maybe if he can just get out and see the sky, it’ll end. He got _out of this_. His uncle is in prison, Temari made sure of that. Their father is dead. He’d been under Temari’s care since he was fourteen and she turned eighteen, and he was safe. He had been safe, at least. Now he’s trapped somewhere else where his uncle is there again, pressing his face into the pillow, dark words whispered in his ear. 

Gaara begs and begs and begs for it to stop, but he won’t and he’s genuinely worried this will be the time he kills him. It would make the pain stop, it has to. Stop. Gaara’s never been afraid of pain, but gods, he thought he got away from this. 

He just needs to _get out_ and maybe he’ll be able to get back to his own reality where he was strong enough to survive. If that was all his imagination... 

He hits the roof, and fresh air smacks him in the face. He’s stunned for a moment, cold and sharp air flooding his lungs and suddenly everything’s so clear. Or, as clear as it really can be when lights and colors bend the very fabric of his reality. A portal. A portal to get home, he’d just slipped away from his own reality and all he has to do is get home. 

Part of him, a very small part of him doesn’t care either way. It’s not so great now, is it? Temari is always over his shoulder, checking in, telling him to eat and sleep, and not do so many drugs. Come _home_ at night, call when their gigs run late or when he’s not planning on coming back to her house. Make good decisions, Gaara. Take care of yourself, Gaara. Don’t waste your life, Gaara. 

Fuck, what life? Is any of this really worth it when he can be reduced to this? Absolutely useless and sullied and broken. He’s found people, and family, and maybe purpose, but what will he do but destroy them? Good things break in his hands, and he doesn’t deserve them. Hadn’t he spent years hearing exactly that? Who was he to challenge the observation?

Green eyes stare blankly down from the edge of the rooftop, staring down into the dark below him. His chest aches and distantly he wishes it would just crack open and get it over with. It would be so easy to just take the last step and sink into the waiting darkness. It looks warm and welcoming and so, so nice. 

Someone’s voice stops him. It’s that same voice from before, sounding desperate and absolutely terrified, and Gaara turns slowly towards the sound. 

“Kiba,” he breathes the name out with faint recognition, squinting at him. Kiba can’t be real. He hadn’t met Kiba until Temari took him in, fourteen, and still scared of the world. Kiba's loud and fierce and not afraid of anything, and the Kiba in front of him looks quiet and terrified. Kiba’s all grown up, pretty, always so pretty. Fuck, he looks good, and Gaara wavers slightly on his perch. Kiba looks absolutely terrified, grey-brown eyes wide as his throat works to swallow. Gaara's always adored those eyes, eyes that look at him like he's the only one in the world sometimes and make him feel real and solid and worth something. Eyes that, right now reflect just enough light to look gold, and look like the sky is falling and nothing will ever be right ever again, and he made that happen. 

Gaara’s head shakes slowly, squeezing his eyes closed hard. “None— none of this is real. I just… I need to get back. And you'll be there and everything will be okay.” 

A breath releases from him, taking a stumbling step forward. “Gaara, I’m right here.” 

Kiba’s voice echoes slightly, that familiar gruff tone gentled and scared, and Gaara’s whole world shakes for a second and he feels it like a kick to the chest. Kiba inhales sharply when Gaara appears to lean back and Gaara laughs sharply. 

“Nobody’s home, Kiba,” he swallows thickly, laughing as he leans forward, hands braced on his knees. “Nothing’s fucking real, don’t you get that? I’m not _here_. Nothing’s here,” hands press into his hair, pulling hard. He winces a little at the touch, and his stomach cramps painfully. He thinks he might be sick for a second. “I can’t do this again, Kiba. Uncle wouldn’t stop hurting me and father didn’t give two fucks because I killed my mom and it's all right here and I just have to step...” he swallows hard, head ducked down, panting hard as he turns back to look down at the swirling vortex of darkness below him. He can hear the voices calling him, tempting him nearer the edge. “I just want everything to stop. One step, that’s all it takes,” he swallows slowly, breathing hard as he stares down below. 

It would feel _so good_ to just let go. He doesn’t want to think anymore, he doesn’t want to have to feel anything. He just wants to make it stop. 

He half turns to look back at Kiba, to assure him it’s all going to be okay, but an arm wraps around him from behind before he can step off. “No, _no_ , fuck no, stop!” 

Gaara shrieks. He wasn’t aware he was capable of producing the noises coming from him, fighting against Kiba’s arm around him like a feral cat. Kiba holds on to him, going with the motions of his body to throw them both to the ground, using the greater bulk of his body to pin Gaara down beneath him while trying his best not to hurt him. He can hear sirens somewhat distantly, breath coming sharply as he tries to wiggle out of his grip. He’s begging now, twisting desperately as Kiba’s hands grip his wrists. Screaming to the sky as Kiba’s bigger body pins him down. 

He’s sobbing openly by the time paramedics arrive. Kiba’s crying over him, and part of it breaks his heart to see because Kiba should never cry. This _can’t_ be Kiba crying because of him because he never wants to hurt Kiba. Gods, fuck Kiba had been the first man he’d fucked willingly and he loves him endlessly. He’s sobbing more, helpless as a needle slides into his arm. Kiba’s breathing heavily, trying to explain that he’s not entirely sure what Gaara’s taken, someone might’ve given him something but Kiba can’t be sure. There’s a wet streak of blood across Kiba’s cheek, and distantly Gaara thinks he might have done that. Guilt creeps through him like a poison, but it doesn’t last.

There's darkness creeping over his vision before he can think too hard on it, a dark he knows well as ice spreads through his veins, and his limbs grow leaden. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." The words come like a mantra, and he can't see but he feels Kiba's fingers against his before everything is too dark to focus. 

… 

He recognizes the smell of the hospital before he’s fully awake. He has no idea where exactly he is, and it’s terrifying for long moments. He forces himself to breathe, trying to lift his hands and finds his wrists restrained. That makes him pause, listening to the beep of a machine that gets louder as his heart races in his chest. He forces green eyes open, trying to take in his surroundings, to analyze and understand under the heavy weight of exhaustion and fear. Staring up at the off white tiled ceiling he recognizes that he is the one in a hospital bed. 

Each of his wrists is locked into a leather cuff, though the ones Neji kept hidden under his bed before he'd moved into his own condo(gods forbid his uncle _ever_ stumbled across them) are more comfortable. The padding is thicker and meant for comfort with longer wear and struggle. Gaara can already see faint bruising on pale skin where he’d clearly struggled. The IV in his arm makes him frown slightly, trailing to a bag of fluid that he can’t focus enough to read. His heart rate has settled back to something normal, and the machine clearly attached to the clip over his index finger has settled down with it. He’s under what feels like at least two of the barely comfortable hospital blankets, a few scrapes, and bruises visible at the edges of the hospital gown. 

Gaara studies all of this with a rather clinical detachment. He’s _alive_ , and that’s a ringing detail that makes something in his chest ache. 

The ache only amplifies as his gaze lifts to finally sweep the room, and immediately lands on Kiba. He’s asleep in one of the chairs against the far wall, his head tipped back as he breathes. He’s unshaven, and his clothes look incredibly rumpled. Like he hasn’t been home recently and he’s slept in them quite a bit recently. Gaara has to wonder how much of the dark bruising beneath the other’s eyes is from leftover makeup (the last memory he has of Kiba, he’s wearing black eyeliner with glitter high on his cheeks) and how much is from sleeping badly, cramped in a chair that’s too small for sprawling limbs. 

“--how long have I been here?”

He’s mostly talking to himself, still focused on Kiba, so he’s not expecting any sort of answer. So, the voice responding to him makes him startle and jump in place. “Three days, give or take. This’ll be the fourth and the first you’ve been very lucid. Though, the sedatives are probably still wearing off,” Gaara’s head snaps around to find the nurse, a pretty brunette with a kind smile as she steps into the room to start taking his vitals, studying his chart with neutral eyes before her gaze comes up to him. “What do you remember?” 

“Not three days in a fucking hospital,” the words are grumbled out, staring at the woman impassively, but she returns the stare with patience born from dealing with patients, not all of whom want to be where they are. The staring contest continues but Gaara’s tired and bound to lose anyways. His head tips back with a sigh, eyes slipping closed. “Not much. Partying for too long. Took… Something. It’s all kinda broken after that. I was on the roof and Kiba...”

The nurse nods slowly, setting the chart aside to move forward, loosening the cuff around one of his wrists and offering Gaara a cup of water from the pitcher beside the table. He takes it gratefully, realizing how dry his throat is for the first time. “You had quite the drug cocktail in your system when they brought you in. Amphetamines, MDMA, LSD, alcohol. Traces of GHB. They had to pump your stomach,” that explains why his throat feels like he’s swallowing around sandpaper. “You’re lucky to be alive if I’m being quite honest. You started seizing in the ambulance and your heart stopped. Twice.”

“Why the---?” His hand lifts as far as it can in the restraint. 

A slow sigh as she tracks his face. “You were hurting yourself, even under sedation. When they first brought you in, they couldn’t calm you down, talking about needing to find your way into the void.” 

Gaara’s eyes narrow on her for a moment, but it’s more his own deep thoughts than displeasure at her words. Something comes to him slowly, blinking at his frowns. “I was going to jump off the roof.” 

That thought strikes him with startling clarity. He can’t necessarily remember why, not specifically, but he knows that had been his intention. 

The nurse’s lips purse, nodding slowly. “We’ll give you a few more hours to get the sedation fully out of your system, and then one of our psychology residents is going to come in for an evaluation. Seventy-two hours are up, but they haven’t been much for discussion.”

She’s watching him with a frown, and Gaara glances down at his free wrist, licking his lips at the faint bruising. “I’m not going to hurt myself.”

For a moment he wonders if she’ll insist that the cuff needs to be there, and he wouldn’t blame her. Then Kiba stirs with an uncomfortable sound and her gaze softens a little. “The nurses have given all your friends a little leeway with visiting hours. We’d rather not have anyone else in a hospital bed because they tried to scale the wall to sneak in through a window. If he’d stayed much longer, a couple of them were talking about knocking him out to force him to go home.”

Gaara smiles faintly because none of it shocks him, but any response he would have made is cut off by Kiba’s sleepy voice. “Gaara? Holy fuck, are ya really awake?”

“You sound like shit,” which is true enough; Kiba’s voice is rough from lack of sleep and stress and a distinct strain that comes from crying. 

But Kiba laughs, genuinely laughs and the steps to the bed are almost stumbled, trying to get his legs under him properly. “Fuckin’ shit, Gaara. Scared th’shit outta us.”

The nurse clears her throat politely, and Kiba’s gaze snaps up to her like it’s the first time he saw her. Gaara wouldn’t be surprised if that was true. “I’ll be back in a bit to check on you and bring lunch. Don’t hesitate to page if you need anything. I do need you to leave that other cuff on until the doctor clears it.” 

“Yeah, thanks,” Kiba nods, rubbing the back of his neck. He had barely noticed her there and it draws an amused sound from Gaara. The nurse just nods with a smile, exiting the room. Kiba steps away from the bed just long enough to drag his chair to the side of the bed, collapsing into it with an air of exhaustion. 

Gaara frowns a little as Kiba’s head drops to the side of the small mattress, allowing bigger fingers to curl around his hand still trapped in the cuff. “Kiba, when’s the last time you slept somewhere other than that chair?”

He doesn’t even bother to lift his head from the bed as his shoulders shift. “First night they brought ya in, ya weren’t in great shape. Slept in th’ waitin’ room. Ain’t just gonna leave ya here.” 

“I’m fairly sure they wouldn’t do any more damage than I did to myself, Kiba,” his voice is mild, but his gaze gentles when Kiba’s head jerks up to him, a threat of tears on the edges of those exhausted eyes. “Kiba, I’m sorry. I don’t… I don’t remember a lot, but I know you dragged me off the edge.” 

Kiba exhales sharply, nodding a little as his forehead tips back against the bed. “I did, yeah. Probably bruised the fuck outta ya when I tackled ya down, an’ I’d do it again,” fingers squeeze his slowly, and Gaara can see Kiba’s throat work as he swallows. “Ya were talkin’, rambling’ about yer uncle,” Gaara’s breath stutters and Kiba squeezes his hand again. “I didn’t fuckin’... I had no idea what t’do, Gaara. When I saw ya up there on that rooftop, th’whole damned world stopped fer a second,” he swallows again, shoulders shaking as he inhales slowly. “There’s so much shit I didn’t know, shoulda seen or asked or somethin’, an’ all I could think about, seein’ ya up there was tha’ I couldn’t lose you. If I hadn’t timed it just fuckin’ right or I hadn’t been fast enough, it woulda all been over.”

“You didn’t,” the answer is simple, and while Gaara knows the situation is anything but, that much is. Kiba saved him. He recognizes the thick quality of the brunet’s voice enough to know he’s crying, even without the hitch of his shoulders. He carefully sets the cup of water aside to free his hand, using it to reach for Kiba’s hair and combing his fingers through thick strands. “Your voice brought me back, stopped me when I was going off. I don’t…” He exhales on a frown, still combing his fingers through Kiba’s hair slowly. “I can’t remember a lot, even in the couple days leading up to that night.” 

“Probably ‘cuz we all went on kinda a bender, callin’ it an album release party.”

Gaara hums at the words because that sounds right. Bad decisions made all around. He inhales. “So I know you had to be at least as blitz as I was. Yet you still managed to follow whatever fucked up memory I couldn’t get out of,” he doesn’t bother to call it a delusion because Kiba deserved the truth from him. Fingers tug lightly on dark hair until Kiba’s head comes up, meeting Gaara’s eyes with a slow, searching gaze. “I’m sorry I put you through that, but I’m here right now because of you.”

“Ya don’t have anythin’ t’apologize fer, Gaara,” Kiba’s gaze searches his as Gaara’s head tips at him slightly. “ ‘m just glad yer here, Gaara. S’gonna be a shit show, but yer alive.” 

A part of what Kiba said stuck with him and his fingers fidget in Kiba’s hair as he looks over his face. “I… Don’t remember much of what I said. And I don’t know how much I’m actually ready to talk about without being totally out of my head…” 

“Gaara,” Kiba’s gaze is earnest as it meets his and his voice is firm. “Ya don’t have t’tell me a gods damned thing if ya ain’t ready. Hell, ya ain’t obligated t’tell me anythin’ ever. O’course I’ll listen if ya want to, but yer story is yours.” 

Gaara spends long moments just gazing at the boy in front of him, before he’s using the grip on his hair to pull him closer, meeting him in a slow kiss. Ignoring that he’s been unconscious for days and neither of them has thought about a toothbrush in longer. The press of lips on his is too good for him to actually give a damn and Kiba melts against him as fingers squeeze around his own. It stays chaste and comfortable, but Kiba does lean over the bed comfortably, careful of his weight so he doesn’t rest on Gaara, but still pressing close. 

A polite cough pulls them apart, and a nurse smiles at them as Kiba sinks off the bed, color dusting his cheeks as he rubs the back of his neck. The man steps into the room with an indulgent smile. “I’m just changing out the IV bag with fresh saline. But if doc Tsunade catches you in his bed, she’ll put you in one of your own. And, if you want anything other than hospital food, I’d recommend getting friends to bring it before she goes on shift this afternoon.”

“Thanks,” Gaara nods slowly, watching with vague interest, shifting his attention as Kiba pushes a phone into his hand. Naruto wants to know if they want food, and what they want and Sasuke is promising they can have anything they want, especially if it doesn’t include ramen. “Tell them I want burgers and onion rings.”

“Ya know yer jus’ gonna eat my fries if ya don’t get yer own,” Gaara stares at him shamelessly, expression neutral as Kiba sighs fondly. The nurse gives them a wink as he takes the used IV bag away, closing the door securely behind him. 

Gaara smooths his fingers through Kiba’s hair gently as he sends his texts, leaning heavily on the side of the bed. “They’ll be here in a couple of hours.”

A nod as Kiba’s head dips slightly with the fingers curling through dark locks. “You should get a little sleep,” fingers curve through his hair and Kiba’s head dips more under his touch, eyes obviously heavily. “I’m not going anywhere, and I can nap until the rest of them show up,” and he might be cheating a little bit, scaping his nails gently over Kiba’s scalp until the other boy starts to relax, leaning on the side of the bed. It’s probably not much more comfortable than how he was sleeping before but he’s close, arm draped over Gaara’s hips with a hand rubbing over his ribs. Fingers rub lightly over Kiba’s knuckles as he brunet’s breathing evens out slowly. He’s not sure he can sleep, but it’s nice with Kiba’s weight on his legs, even if his chest aches with what he could have said and what had gone through Kiba’s head during all of it.

…

"Two months is a long time," Neji's eyes carefully scan the document in his hands, Gaara's forms to voluntarily commit himself to a psychiatric hospital after his hospital stay. Temari looks on at his side, green eyes drifting from the form and back to Gaara as she chews on her lower lip with a frown. 

Both his siblings had been berate to leave his side in the week since he'd been released from the hospital, and while they agreed with his decision, it was hard. 

Gaara lifts a shoulder. "Not really. Not in the long run." 

Lilac eyes drift to him for long moments before returning to the document. "At any time if you want to leave, Temari can sign you out. And I’m keeping a copy of this in case someone tries to deny that.” 

“It’ll be fine,” Gaara shifts slightly, his gaze drifting over Kiba and Naruto in Temari’s kitchen. “You have to promise me something,” Neji hums softly in assent. “Take care of him?”

Neji blinks, following his gaze slowly before flicking back to Gaara. “Kiba?”

A sharp nod. “He’s not okay. He’ll tell you he’s okay, and he might act like it for a while, but he’s not okay,” Gaara shifts again, focusing on Neji. “Try not to let him hurt himself." 

Gaara can't help the affectionate smile as Neji's gaze turns just slightly soft as it focuses on the young singer. "We'll take care of Kiba. You take care of yourself, Gaara. We'll be here when you get home."

“I will,” Gaara nods slowly, a warmth in his chest that has nothing to do with drugs or fear. “I know.” 

And he does.

**Author's Note:**

> So. Uh. Yeah. That happened but we got a happy ending out of it?
> 
> For the first time in a fic I've posted, there's no smut? It feels weird. Enjoy, I guess? Full props if y'all caught the Spring Awakening references in there.
> 
> If you ever feel like you need help, there are resources for you. Please remember you're not alone. 
> 
> Comments and kudos let me pretend I'm a real writer.


End file.
